The Face And The Mask - Robert Barr
"Oh, I--I--beg your pardon," stammered Robbins, "I----."
"It really doesn't matter at all. You are perfectly right, and I think
it a very apt term. Well, the old Golden Dragon makes a great deal of
his money by robbing the dead. You didn't know that, did you? You
thought it was the living who supported him, and goodness knows he robs
_them_ when he has a chance. Well, you are very much mistaken.
When a man dies in the Golden Dragon, he, or his friends rather, have
to pay very sweetly for it. The Dragon charges them for re-furnishing
the room. Every stick of furniture is charged for, all the wall-paper,
and so on. I suppose it is perfectly right to charge something, but the
Dragon is not content with what is right. He knows he has finally lost
a customer, and so he makes all he can out of him. The furniture so
paid for, is not re-placed, and the walls are not papered again, but
the Dragon doesn't abate a penny of his bill on that account. Now, I
have inquired of the furnishing man, on the street back of the hotel,
and he has written on his card just the cost of mattress, sheets,
pillows, and all that sort of thing, and the amount comes to about 50
francs. I have put in an envelope a 50-franc note, and with it the card
of the furniture man. I have written a letter to the hotel-keeper,
telling him just what the things will cost that he needs, and have
referred the Dragon to the card of the furniture man who has given me
the figures. This envelope I have addressed to the Dragon, and he will
find it when I am dead. This is the joke that old man Death and myself
have put up on our host, and my only regret is that I shall not be able
to enjoy a look at the Dragon's countenance as he reads my last letter
to him. Another sum of money I have put away, in good hands where he
won't have a chance to get it, for my funeral expenses, and then you
see I am through with the world. I have nobody to leave that I need
worry about, or who would either take care of me or feel sorry for me
if I needed care or sympathy, which I do not. So that is why I laugh,
and that is why I come down and sit upon this bench, in the sunshine,
and enjoy the posthumous joke."
Robbins did not appear to see the humor of the situation quite as
strongly as the Living Skeleton did. At different times after, when
they met he had offered the Skeleton more money if he wanted it, so
that he might prolong his life a little, but the Skeleton always
refused.
A sort of friendship sprang up between Robbins and the Living Skeleton,
at least, as much of a friendship as can exist between the living and
the dead, for Robbins was a muscular young fellow who did not need to
live at the Riviera on account of his health, but merely because he
detested an English winter. Besides this, it may be added, although it
really is nobody's business, that a Nice Girl and her parents lived in
this particular part of the South of France.
One day Robbins took a little excursion in a carriage to Toulon. He had
invited the Nice Girl to go with him, but on that particular day she
could not go. There was some big charity function on hand, and one
necessary part of the affair was the wheedling of money out of people's
pockets, so the Nice Girl had undertaken to do part of the wheedling.
She was very good at it, and she rather prided herself upon it, but
then she was a very nice girl, pretty as well, and so people found it
difficult to refuse her. On the evening of the day there was to be a
ball at the principal hotel of the place, also in connection with this
very desirable charity. Robbins had reluctantly gone to Toulon alone,
but you may depend upon it he was back in time for the ball.
"Well," he said to the Nice Girl when he met her, "what luck
collecting, to-day?"
"Oh, the greatest luck," she replied enthusiastically, "and whom do you
think I got the most money from?"
"I am sure I haven't the slightest idea--that old English Duke, he
certainly has money enough."
"No, not from him at all; the very last person you would expect it
from--your friend, the Living Skeleton."
"What!" cried Robbins, in alarm.
"Oh, I found him on the bench where he usually sits, in the avenue of
the palms. I told him all about the charity and how useful it was, and
how necessary, and how we all ought to give as much as we could towards
it, and he smiled and smiled at me in that curious way of his. 'Yes,'
he said in a whisper, 'I believe the charity should be supported by
everyone; I will give you eighty francs.' Now, wasn't that very
generous of him? Eighty francs, that was ten times what the Duke gave,
and as he handed me the money he looked up at me and said in that awful
whisper of his: 'Count this over carefully when you get home and see if
you can find out what else I have given you. There is more than eighty
francs there.' Then, after I got home, I----"
But here the Nice Girl paused, when she looked at the face of Robbins,
to whom she was talking. That face was ghastly pale and his eyes were
staring at her but not seeing her.
"Eighty francs," he was whispering to himself, and he seemed to be
making a mental calculation. Then noticing the Nice Girl's amazed look
at him, he said:
"Did you take the money?"
"Of course I took it," she said, "why shouldn't I?"
"Great Heavens!" gasped Robbins, and without a word he turned and fled,
leaving the Nice Girl transfixed with astonishment and staring after
him with a frown on her pretty brow.
"What does he mean by such conduct?" she asked herself. But Robbins
disappeared from the gathering throng in the large room of the hotel,
dashed down the steps, and hurried along the narrow pavements toward
the "Golden Dragon." The proprietor was standing in the hallway with
his hands behind him, a usual attitude with the Dragon.
"Where," gasped Robbins, "is Mr.--Mr.----" and then he remembered he
didn't know the name. "Where is the Living Skeleton?"
"He has gone to his room," answered the Dragon, "he went early to-
night, he wasn't feeling well, I think."
"What is the number of his room?"
"No. 40," and the proprietor rang a loud, jangling bell, whereupon one
of the chambermaids appeared. "Show this gentleman to No. 40."
The girl preceded Robbins up the stairs. Once she looked over her
shoulder, and said in a whisper, "Is he worse?"
"I don't know," answered Robbins, "that's what I have come to see."
At No. 40 the girl paused, and rapped lightly on the door panel. There
was no response. She rapped again, this time louder. There was still no
response.
"Try the door," said Robbins.
"I am afraid to," said the girl.
"Why?"
"Because he said if he were asleep the door would be locked, and if he
were dead the door would be open."
"When did he say that?"
"He said it several times, sir; about a week ago the last time."
Robbins turned the handle of the door; it was not locked. A dim light
was in the room, but a screen before the door hid it from sight. When
he passed round the screen he saw, upon the square marble-topped
arrangement at the head of the bed, a candle burning, and its light
shone on the dead face of the Skeleton, which had a grim smile on its
thin lips, while in its clenched hand was a letter addressed to the
proprietor of the hotel.
The Living Skeleton had given more than the eighty francs to that
deserving charity.
HIGH STAKES.
The snow was gently sifting down through the white glare of the
electric light when Pony Rowell buttoned his overcoat around him and
left the Metropolitan Hotel, which was his home. He was a young man,
not more than thirty, and his face was a striking one. It was clean cut
and clean shaven. It might have been the face of an actor or the face
of a statesman. An actor's face has a certain mobility of expression
resulting from the habit of assuming characters differing widely.
Rowell's face, when you came to look at it closely, showed that it had
been accustomed to repress expression rather than to show emotion of
any kind. A casual look at Pony Rowell made you think his face would
tell you something; a closer scrutiny showed you that it would tell you
nothing. His eyes were of a piercing steely gray that seemed to read
the thoughts of others, while they effectually concealed his own. Pony
Rowell was known as a man who never went back on his word. He was a
professional gambler.
On this particular evening he strolled up the avenue with the easy
carriage of a man of infinite leisure. He hesitated for a moment at an
illy-lighted passage-way in the middle of a large building on a side
street, then went in and mounted a stair. He rapped lightly at a door.
A slide was shoved back and a man inside peered out at him for a
moment. Instantly the door was opened, for Pony's face was good for
admittance at any of the gambling rooms in the city. There was still
another guarded door to pass, for an honest gambling-house keeper can
never tell what streak of sudden morality may strike the police, and it
is well to have a few moments' time in which to conceal the
paraphernalia of the business. Of course, Mellish's gambling rooms were
as well known to the police as to Pony Rowell, but unless some fuss was
made by the public, Mellish knew he would be free from molestation.
Mellish was a careful man, and a visitor had to be well vouched for,
before he gained admission. There never was any trouble in Mellish's
rooms. He was often known to advise a player to quit when he knew the
young gambler could not afford to lose, and instances were cited where
he had been the banker of some man in despair. Everybody liked Mellish,
for his generosity was unbounded, and he told a good story well.
Inside the room that Pony Rowell had penetrated, a roulette table was
at its whirling work and faro was going on in another spot. At small
tables various visitors were enjoying the game of poker.
"Hello, Pony," cried Bert Ragstock, "are you going to give me my
revenge to-night?"
"I'm always willing to give anyone his revenge." answered Pony
imperturbably, lighting a fresh cigarette.
"All right then; come and sit down here."
"I'm not going to play just yet. I want to look on for a while."
"Nonsense. I've been waiting for you ever so long already. Sit down."
"You ought to know by this time, Bert, that when I say a thing I mean
it. I won't touch a card till the clock begins to strike 12. Then I'm
wid ye."
"Pshaw, Pony, you ought to be above that sort of thing. That's
superstition, Rowell. You're too cool a man to mind when you touch a
card. Come on."
"That's all right. At midnight, I said to myself, and at midnight it
shall be or not at all."
The old gamblers in the place nodded approval of this resolution. It
was all right enough for Bert Ragstock to sneer at superstition,
because he was not a real gambler. He merely came to Mellish's rooms in
the evening because the Stock Exchange did not keep open all night.
Strange to say Ragstock was a good business man as well as a cool
gambler. He bemoaned the fate that made him so rich that gambling had
not the exhilarating effect on him which it would have had if he had
been playing in desperation.
When the clock began to chime midnight Pony Rowell took up the pack and
began to shuffle.
"Now, old man," he said, "I'm going in to win. I'm after big game to-
night."
"Right you are." cried Bert, with enthusiasm. "I'll stand by you as
long as the spots stay on the cards."
In the gray morning, when most of the others had left and even Mellish
himself was yawning, they were still at it. The professional gambler
had won a large sum of money; the largest sum he ever possessed. Yet
there was no gleam of triumph in his keen eyes. Bert might have been
winning for all the emotion his face showed. They were a well matched
pair, and they enjoyed playing with each other.
"There," cried Pony at last, "haven't you had enough? Luck's against
you. I wouldn't run my head any longer against a brick wall, if I were
you."
"My dear Pony, how often have I told you there is no such thing as
luck. But to tell the truth I'm tired and I'm going home. The revenge
is postponed. When do I meet the enemy again?"
Pony Rowell shuffled the cards idly for a few moments without replying
or raising his eyes. At last he said:
"The next time I play you, Bert, it will be for high stakes."
"Good heavens, aren't you satisfied with the stakes we played for to-
night?"
"No. I want to play you for a stake that will make even your hair stand
on end. Will you do it?"
"Certainly. When?"
"That I can't tell just yet. I have a big scheme on hand. I am to see a
man to-day about it. All I want to know is that you promise to play."
"Pony, this is mysterious. I guess you're not afraid I will flunk out.
I'm ready to meet you on any terms and for any stake."
"Enough said. I'll let you know some of the particulars as soon as I
find out all I want myself. Good-night."
"Good-night to you, rather," said Bert, as Mellish helped him on with
his overcoat. "You've won the pile: robbing a poor man of his hard-
earned gains!"
"Oh, the poor man does not need the money as badly as I do. Besides,
I'm going to give you a chance to win it all back again and more."
When Ragstock had left, Pony still sat by the table absent-mindedly
shuffling the cards.
"If I were you," said Mellish, laying his hand on his shoulder, "I
would put that pile in the bank and quit."
"The faro bank?" asked Pony, looking up with a smile.
"No, I'd quit the business altogether if I were you. I'm going to
myself."
"Oh, we all know that. You've been going to quit for the last twenty
years. Well, I'm going to quit, too, but not just yet. That's what they
all say, of course, but I mean it."
In the early and crisp winter air Pony Rowell walked to the
Metropolitan Hotel and to bed. At 3 that afternoon the man he had an
appointment with, called to see him.
"You wanted to see me about an Insurance policy," the visitor began. An
agent is always ready to talk of business. "Now, were you thinking of
an endowment scheme or have you looked into our new bond system of
insurance? The twenty-pay-life style of thing seems to be very
popular."
"I want to ask you a few questions," said Pony. "If I were to insure my
life in your company and were to commit suicide would that invalidate
the policy?"
"Not after two years. After two years, in our company, the policy is
incontestable."
"Two years? That won't do for me. Can't you make it one year?"
"I'll tell you what I will do," said the agent, lowering his voice, "I
can ante-date the policy, so that the two years will end just when you
like, say a year from now."
"Very well. If you can legally fix it so that the two years come to an
end about this date next year I will insure in your company for
$100,000."
The agent opened his eyes when the amount was mentioned.
"I don't want endowments or bonds, but the cheapest form of life
insurance you have, and----"
"Straight life is what you want."
"Straight life it is, then, and I will pay you for the two years or
say, to make it sure, for two years and a half down, when you bring me
the papers."
Thus it was that with part of the money he had won, Pony Rowell insured
his life for $100,000, and with another part he paid his board and
lodging for a year ahead at the Metropolitan Hotel.
The remainder he kept to speculate on.
During the year that followed he steadily refused to play with Bert
Ragstock, and once or twice they nearly had a quarrel about it--that is
as near as Pony could come to having a row with anybody, for
quarrelling was not in his line. If he had lived in a less civilized
part of the community Pony might have shot, but as it was quarrels
never came to anything, therefore he did not indulge in any.
"A year from the date of our last game? What nonsense it is waiting all
that time. You play with others, why not with me? Think of the chances
we are losing," complained Bert.
"We will have a game then that will make up for all the waiting,"
answered Rowell.
At last the anniversary came and when the hour struck that ushered it
in Pony Rowell and Bert Ragstock sat facing each other, prepared to
resume business on the old stand.
"Ah," said Bert, rubbing his hands, "it feels good to get opposite you
once more. Pony, you're a crank. We might have had a hundred games like
this during the past year, if there wasn't so much superstition about
you."
"Not quite like this. This is to be the last game I play, win or lose.
I tell you that now, so that there won't be any talk of revenge if I
win."
"You don't mean it! I've heard talk like that before."
"All right. I've warned you. Now I propose that this be a game of pure
luck. We get a new pack of cards, shuffle them, cut, then you pull one
card and I another. Ace high. The highest takes the pot. Best two out
of three. Do you agree?"
"Of course. How much is the pile to be?"
"One hundred thousand dollars."
"Oh, you're dreaming."
"Isn't it enough?"
"Thunder! You never _saw_ $100,000."
"You will get the money if I lose."
"Say, Pony, that's coming it a little strong. One hundred thousand
dollars! Heavens and earth! How many business men in this whole city
would expect their bare word to be taken for $100,000?"
"I'm not a business man. I'm a gambler."
"True, true. Is the money in sight?"
"No; but you'll be paid. Your money is not in sight. I trust you. Can't
you trust me?
"It isn't quite the same thing, Pony. I'll trust you for three times
the money you have in sight, but when you talk about $100,000 you are
talking of a lot of cash."
"If I can convince Mellish here that you will get your money, will you
play?"
"You can convince me just as easily as you can Mellish. What's the use
of dragging him in?"
"I could convince you in a minute, but you might still refuse to play.
Now I'm bound to play this game and I can't take any risks. If my word
and Mellish's isn't good enough for you, why, say so."
"All right," cried Bert. "If you can convince Mellish that you will pay
if you lose I'll play you."
Rowell and Mellish retired into an inner room and after a few minutes
reappeared again.
Mellish's face was red when he went in. He was now a trifle pale.
"I don't like this, Bert," Mellish said, "and I think this game had
better stop right here."
"Then you are not convinced that I am sure of my money?"
"Yes, I am, but----"
"That's enough for me. Get out your new pack."
"You've given your word, Mellish," said Pony, seeing the keeper of the
house was about to speak. "Don't say any more."
"For such a sum two out of three is too sudden. Make it five out of
nine," put in Bert.
"I'm willing."
The new pack of cards was brought and the wrappings torn off.
"You shuffle first; I'll cut," said Rowell. His lips seemed parched and
he moistened them now and then, which was unusual for so cool a
gambler. Mellish fidgeted around with lowered brow. Bert shuffled the
cards as nonchalantly as if he had merely a $5 bill on the result. When
each had taken a card, Bert held an ace and Pony a king. Pony shuffled
and the turn up was a spot in Pony's hand and queen in that of his
opponent. Bert smiled and drops began to show on Pony's forehead in
spite of his efforts at self-control. No word was spoken by either
players or onlookers. After the next deal Pony again lost. His
imperturbability seemed to be leaving him. He swept the cards from the
table with an oath. "Bring another pack," he said hoarsely.
Bert smiled at him across the table. He thought, of course, that they
were playing for even stakes.
Mellish couldn't stand it any longer. He retired to one of the inner
rooms. The first deal with the new pack turned in Pony's favor and he
seemed to feel that his luck had changed, but the next deal went
against him and also the one following.
"It's your shuffle," said Rowell, pushing the cards towards his
opponent. Bert did not touch the cards, but smiled across at the
gambler.
"What's the matter with you? Why don't you shuffle?"
"I don't have to," said Bert, quietly, "I've won five."
Rowell drew his hand across his perspiring brow and stared at the man
across the table. Then he seemed to pull himself together.
"So you have," he said, "I hadn't noticed it. Excuse me. I guess I'll
go now."
"Sit where you are and let us have a game for something more modest. I
don't care about these splurges myself and I don't suppose you do--
now."
"Thanks, no. I told you this was my last game. As to the splurge, if I
had the money I would willingly try it again. So long."
When Mellish came in and saw that the game was over he asked where Pony
was.
"He knew when he had enough, I guess," answered Bert. "He's gone home."
"Come in here, Bert. I want to speak with you," said Mellish.
When they were alone Mellish turned to him.
"I suppose Pony didn't tell you where the money is to come from?"
"No, he told you. That was enough for me."
"Well, there's no reason why you should not know now. I promised
silence till the game was finished. He's insured his life for $100,000
and is going to commit suicide so that you may be paid."
"My God!" cried Bert, aghast. "Why did you let the game go on?"
"I tried to stop it, but I had given my word and you----"
"Well, don't let us stand chattering here. He's at the Metropolitan,
isn't he? Then come along. Hurry into your coat."
Mellish knew the number of Rowell's room and so no time was lost in the
hotel office with inquiries. He tried the door, but, as he expected, it
was locked.
"Who's that?" cried a voice within.
"It's me--Mellish. I want to speak with you a moment."
"I don't want to see you."
"Bert wants to say something. It's important. Let us in."
"I won't let you in. Go away and don't make a fuss. It will do no good.
You can get in ten minutes from now."
"Look here, Pony, you open that door at once, or I'll kick it in. You
hear me? I want to see you a minute, and then you can do what you
like," said Bert, in a voice that meant business.
After a moment's hesitation Rowell opened the door and the two stepped
in. Half of the carpet had been taken up and the bare floor was covered
with old newspapers. A revolver lay on the table, also writing
materials and a half-finished letter. Pony was in his shirt sleeves and
he did not seem pleased at the interruption.
"What do you want?" he asked shortly.
"Look here, Pony," said Bert, "I have confessed to Mellish and I've
come to confess to you. I want you to be easy with me and hush the
thing up. I cheated. I stocked the cards."
"You're a liar," said Rowell, looking him straight in the eye.
"Don't say that again," cried Ragstock, with his fingers twitching.
"There's mighty few men I would take that from."
"You stocked the cards on me? I'd like to see the man that could do
it!"
"You were excited and didn't notice it."
"You're not only a liar, but you're an awkward liar. I have lost the
money and I'll pay it. It would have been ready for you now, only I had
a letter to write. Mellish has told you about the insurance policy and
my will attached to it. Here they are. They're yours. I'm no kicker. I
know when a game's played fair."
Bert took the policy and evidently intended to tear it in pieces, while
Mellish, with a wink at him, edged around to get at the revolver.
Ragstock's eye caught the name in big letters at the head of the
policy, beautifully engraved. His eyes opened wide, then he sank into a
chair and roared with laughter. Both the other men looked at him in
astonishment.
"What's the matter?" asked Mellish.
"Matter? Why, this would have been a joke on Pony. It would do both of
you some good to know a little about business as well as of gambling.
The Hardfast Life Insurance Company went smash six months ago. It's the
truth this time, Pony, even if I didn't stock the cards. Better make
some inquiries in business circles before you try to collect any money
from this institution. Now, Pony, order up the drinks, if anything can
be had at this untimely hour. We are your guests so you are expected to
be hospitable. I've had all the excitement I want for one night. We'll
call it square and begin over again."
"WHERE IGNORANCE IS BLISS."
The splendid steamship Adamant, of the celebrated Cross Bow line, left
New York on her February trip under favorable auspices. There had just
been a storm on the ocean, so there was every chance that she would
reach Liverpool before the next one was due.
Capt. Rice had a little social problem to solve at the outset, but he
smoothed that out with the tact which is characteristic of him. Two
Washington ladies--official ladies--were on board, and the captain, old
British sea-dog that he was, always had trouble in the matter of
precedence with Washington ladies. Capt. Rice never had any bother with
the British aristocracy, because precedence is all set down in the
bulky volume of "Burke's Peerage," which the captain kept in his cabin,
and so there was no difficulty. But a republican country is supposed
not to meddle with precedence. It wouldn't, either, if it weren't for
the women.